


a love forbidden

by stellaxxgibson



Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: 19th Century, Affairs, Alternate Universe, F/F, Forbidden Love, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Romance, Lesbian Sex, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaxxgibson/pseuds/stellaxxgibson
Summary: In the year of 1885, a young Dana Scully finds herself in a new town in the English Countryside. Assisting the town’s doctor as a medical nurse, she meets a sick young girl who needs her help. As she nurses the girl back to health, she begins to fall madly in love with the girl’s mother, Lady Stella Gibson Beaumont, who returns her love with endless passion and deep affection.Hiding their 19th century lesbian romance, their worlds will be turned upside down. For the better, you ask? You’ll have to wait and see.
Relationships: Stella Gibson & Dana Scully, Stella Gibson/Dana Scully
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	1. Dana

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains mentions of blood, vomit and childbirth. Though the subject matter is quite mild, proceed with caution if you’re squeamish. 
> 
> This also contains scenarios of women ‘tending to their husbands’ as their ‘wifely duty,’ which implies dubious consent. These scenarios will be off-camera, as one would say, and will not be written about in the slightest. They will only be implied within the story.
> 
> I researched loads for this story, but for aesthetic reasons, it will not be completely historically accurate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can find inspiration here: https://stellaxxgibson.tumblr.com/post/644497332170375168/avant-laurore-a-19th-century-forbidden-lesbian

It was the heavy pelts of rain that woke her – loud and thick on the rooftop that hung mere feet from where she lay her head. As thunder began its bellow and awoke the remainder of pre-dawn, the woman sat up in bed and sighed with restlessness. She rubbed her tired eyes and peeled back her fleece blanket, bare feet settling on creaky floorboards. It felt cold at first touch, but she knew, it being spring, that the wooden floor beneath her would never feel warmth until the months of summer. 

As the first sliver of sunlight began to crest over the horizon, she opened thick curtains and peered through thin glass as the storm continued to rage outside. In need of more light, the woman whose long and curly hair was as vibrant as blood aflame, lit a lone candle as she began to ready. Above her undergarments, she fashioned her worn corset and a long dress – lace and the shade of lush lavender – along with warm stockings and leather boots. She brushed the hair that flowed down below her breasts, fastening it up with brass pins. 

As she approached her mirror in the dimmest of light, she flattened her dress and inspected her reflection. At the young age of twenty-three, she knew she was beautiful, as all young women were, but not in an elegant or alluring sort of way. She had a youthful face, pale skin, freckles like constellations that pricked her slender nose, and lips a natural shade of pink hibiscus. She was beautiful enough to know little sense of insecurity. Or she should, at least, have those feelings of confidence and self-assurance. But as a woman who lived above the residence of the town doctor and his wife, belongings scarce and with hardly any worth to her name, she didn’t feel as if she deserved the title of beauty, nor the title of anything but bleak and utterly ordinary. 

Lowering her eyes, she descended the darkened stairs, candlestick in hand. She found Ms. Lydia already in the kitchen, cutting slices of fresh bread for breakfast. The older woman once had long and luscious blonde hair, she could tell that much was true. Perhaps it had been the color of sunflowers and as wavy as she imagined the ocean tides to be. Now her hair was pulled back into a slim braid and nearly all gray from her roots to her ends. She had a warm smile with a plethora of wrinkles adorning her most prominent features, deep eyes the color of moss, and a heart just as warm as her grin. She took to the younger woman like a surrogate mother, a natural at nurturing though she had no children of her own. 

“Good morning, Dana,” Lydia smiled, her face lit by a glowing lantern. “Up a smidgen before usual, I see?”

“Good morning, Ms. Lydia.” The younger woman, Dana, smiled back and lit another lantern, making the room shine as if it were later in the day. “I could say the same for you.” 

Lydia nodded and handed Dana a few eggs as she opened a fresh jar of strawberry marmalade. “Couldn’t sleep very well. The storm,” she reasoned, raising her chin as if pointing to the sky, spreading the marmalade over her homemade butter that melted on the slices of bread. 

Nodding in agreement, Dana began scrambling the fresh eggs over a burning stove. She watched out the window as they cooked, as the rain began to slow down just a little, splattering on the ground like relinquished tears. “Have the horses been checked this morning?” she asked. 

“Henry looked in on them earlier this morning,” Lydia returned, speaking about her husband. “He had an early shipment of supplies come in. Been in town for a few hours now, but should be back in time for breakfast.” 

Dana finished with the eggs, placing them alongside two slices of bread on each of the three plates Lydia set out. “I can check on them again before he gets back,” she said.

She loved those horses, the ones that resided in the small stable behind the house. They’d been a great comfort to her when she’d first arrived in town and settled into the home of Doctor Henry and Mrs. Lydia Westwood. The brushing of their manes and the cleaning of the horses had been the only thing to settle her nerves back then. And even now, when she would help tend to them every morning, she’d find comfort in taking care of the horses. There was one, in particular, she was quite fond of – her sandy brown mane and her dark honey eyes a reminder of her childhood horse. Named Chestnut, she embodied her name with her dark castaneous hair. And being the smallest of the three horses that lived out back, Dana loved her the most. For she knew how to ride horses, and could ride Chestnut effortlessly. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Lydia uttered, setting down two plates and sitting at the long wooden table. 

Joining her, Dana cast her eyes once more to the outside world and hoped the sky would clear soon, for she had places to go and things to attend to today. Though it wouldn’t become completely light for over an hour, when her breakfast was eaten and the cleaning had been done, at least the sky would indeed clear. She would don a petticoat, one-handed down kindly from Lydia; one with a small tear on the inside of the left sleeve, along her wrist. She would curse herself for forgetting to stitch the tear, but as always, she would leave it be. For the rip gave it character, just like the woman herself who wore it. 

When the rain did eventually stop completely, she tightened her boot laces and stepped out into the fresh dewy air, inhaled deeply. She turned towards the stable and intended to walk towards it, but at the sudden clatter of distant hooves, she turned back around as a tattered and familiar carriage came into view. 

It was the Westwood carriage. 

Reaching the house and stepping out with haste, she saw as Doctor Westwood helped a young man out of the carriage, the latter’s hand covered with a bloody cloth. 

“Miss Scully,” the Doctor said, hurriedly guiding the injured man inside. “I’m afraid our butcher Mr. Tuttle here has sliced his forefinger with a carving knife. I caught him just in time on my way home.” He squeezed the torn cloth over the man’s finger, trying to stop the flow of blood. “Please boil some hot water and fetch fresh bandages.” 

Nodding as she followed both men inside, she restarted a fire and began boiling water before setting up clean bandages near the back of the house where patients were always treated. She washed her hands as the man, Mr. Turtle she presumed, whimpered in pain as Doctor Westwood examined his injury. 

“This will need a few stitches,” the doctor said, his oval-shaped glasses firm on the bridge of his nose. He was old with abundant white hair and light blue eyes; the kindest soul Dana had ever met. “Miss Scully, if you would.” 

“Yes, Doctor.”

Dana retrieved the pot of boiling water, sterilizing a needle beneath its simmering bubbles. When the needle cooled, she threaded through the needle hole and turned to the man in the chair with a calming smile as he downed a finger of whiskey presented to him for the pain. 

Scoffing lightly, the man wiped his mouth with the back of his uninjured hand and looked up at the woman who would be stitching up his finger. 

“I don’t want no woman sewing me up,” Mr. Tuttle spat. “No offense, Miss.” 

Being used to the disrespect and prejudices of man, Dana held her breath but kept her gaze fixed on the one before her. “Mr. Tuttle, I can assure you that I’m completely qualified,” she informed, finally letting out a long exhale of annoyed breath. “I am perfectly capable.” 

Before the young man could reply, the doctor was stepping back into the room carrying a bottle of Laudanum and a fresh finger of whiskey. “Miss Scully is a trained nurse and a fine one at that,” Doctor Westwood said starkly. “She’ll repair your finger with little pain and a skilled hand. If you choose to refuse her help–” 

The man sighed and nodded, cutting off Doctor Westwood’s words. He sat back against his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “Go ahead with it then,” he grunted as blood dripped down his palm.

As she approached him closer, a polite smile still plastered on her face, Dana examined the injured finger and pulled another chair over, sitting beside him. “I’ll be quick about it,” she told him, voice assertive. 

She stitched his skin the way she knew how – the way her father had taught her as a young girl with utter curiosity. It was the same way the doctor had also trained her to do in the six months since arriving in town and taking her under his wing. She hadn’t known anyone then. Had only the clothes on her back and a small coin purse with hardly anything inside. But now she had a place to rest her head, a place to work and learn. And as she sewed together the sliced skin of a man she didn’t know, hearing him wincing with pain but knowing he was better off after accepting her help, she enjoyed every second of it. 

After Mr. Tuttle left not an hour later, with white bandages and his prescription of pain medication, Dana helped the doctor clean drops of crimson from the floorboards, ringing out used cloths until the barrel of water turned pink. 

“You did a fine job today, Miss Scully,” the old doctor smiled as he lent her a hand, helping her back up to her feet. “It seems as though this little town is much better off now that you’re here.” 

“I still have so much to learn,” Dana said, tucking her chin at the compliment. It had only been half a year and she had learned a great deal more about medicine, more than she ever had when her father cared for his own patients in their home. But she felt as though she still needed to learn more, not yet trusting herself to care for patients without the guidance of the doctor. 

Doctor Westwood walked with cracking knees, giving a soft, “I don’t think so, Miss Scully,” before winking and heading out the back door. For he knew, unlike the young woman before him, that she was far more talented than she’d ever give herself credit for. 

  
  


—

  
  


The air outside was still a little cold, causing Dana to pull a pair of gloves from her pocket and slip them onto her hands. By late afternoon, the storm had long gone and the wind had died down almost completely, but the sting of early March still caused gooseflesh to prickle along her pale skin. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body – her favorite one with the silver clasp, the one that was heavy but never kept her too warm. 

While she carried a small basket around her arm, her coin purse tucked into a large pocket in the skirt of her dress, she made her way over the damp and tattered dirt road, heading toward the center of town. It was beautiful in the crisp air of rural England. Flowers had begun to blossom and lush grass began to thicken with nutrients. 

Tucking a small strand of curly hair back into her bonnet, Dana smiled to herself, thinking of beginnings anew, to fresh starts, and of rebirth in spring. 

After tending to the horses earlier and helping Ms. Lydia prepare lunch, she’d headed off toward the mercantile for fresh carrots and potatoes for dinner, perhaps some fresh rosemary for a bread recipe she had perfected. In no hurry to be there too quickly, she walked slowly, thinking of pulling out warm bread from the wood-burning oven, of hot soup in her belly after her long walk, and riding Chestnut before dusk. But for now, she took in the fresh air around her, the smell of bluebells and tulips, of birch trees and elm. The countryside smelled far better than the city she once called home, so she breathed deeply, loving it all. And although she had only seen the humid heat of early fall and the dreariness of winter, she found herself preferring spring above all other seasons, when she could walk this road every day and not tire of the senses it bestowed upon her. 

When she finally arrived in town not too long later, she said hello to the few friendly faces she knew. She knew most of the shop owners and some of the workers, the ones she saw every time she was in town, but the rest of the people here she had yet to be acquainted with; she was still fairly new, especially coming out of a long winter. 

Entering the mercantile, Dana added the vegetables for dinner into her wicker basket, along with some fruit for the next few days, a small bottle of milk, a block of cheese, and even some of the fresh rosemary she had been thinking about. She gazed around as she walked to the counter before setting her basket down to pay. The owner of the mercantile gave her a genuine smile, a _good afternoon Miss Scully._ And though she reciprocated his pleasantries, she wasn’t giving the older man her full attention, for there was another man, a younger man, eyeing her from behind the curtain. He was a few years her senior, she speculated, probably the son of the merchant, and she wondered if she had seen him here before. Surely he had seen _her_ before from the deep blush on his prickled cheeks and the shy manner he was showing her. Though she didn’t mind, she didn’t indulge him. Instead, she turned her attention back to the older man.

“I have something here you might fancy,” he told her, pointing to a basket of soap to her left. “We haven’t had it since February - fresh in stock.” 

Wrapped individually and tied with twine, she picked up one of the bars in her hand, smelling the wonderfully scented aroma. It had been months since she’d had the spare change to buy herself such an indulgence, but she couldn’t resist such a beautiful smell. Even two months before that she had bought two of them, having made extra money during the harsh winter. And now, yes, she did have some extra coins from her birthday last month, a present from the Westwood’s, and she did fancy the soap very much. So with the money from her coin purse, she paid for the food _and_ for the flowery soap, and when she headed home on the same tattered road, she hurried along much quicker this time, thoughts of the sweet aroma and silky lather against her skin. 

By the time she made it back home and had taken her favorite horse out for a ride along the east river, the sun had begun to set, darkening the sky in hues of deep amethyst. She ate the soup prepared by Lydia, a small fire roaring amongst the quiet, and when she had finished with the dinner dishes, she went back up to her room. 

Attached to her little bedroom upstairs was a decent-sized washroom with a copper tub large enough to soak herself into. It wasn’t standard, she knew, for most people only had wash basins or sitz baths, but she reveled in having a proper bath, and now, proper soap again. 

Stepping out of her dress, she placed it back into her wardrobe before unfastening the rest of her clothes down to her undergarments. Keeping her hair still pinned and out of her face, she walked into the washroom, fingering the top of the cold water in the tub. She was grateful that she had filled it before dinner when she was less exhausted than she was now. But even as tired as her body felt, she readied her things with excitement and placed a fresh nightdress on her bed for afterward. 

As Dana returned beside the tub, she let her undergarments slide from her body, leaving her naked and bare in the dimmest of candlelight. Her skin was milky and fair, as white and translucent as silk. Freckles peppered her shoulders and chest, matching her nose. But unlike her face, Dana’s body was more toned, muscles smooth and prominent. No, she didn’t think she was very beautiful, but to anyone else who would ever have the privilege of seeing her so bare, they would know she was the most beautiful of all. 

As she stepped into the cold water, the chill shocked her skin, ravishing it in more gooseflesh. Sinking slowly to her bottom, her bare breasts skimmed over the water, hardening her rosy nipples into small pebbles. Though the water wasn’t as full as she would have liked, she was sensible, filling it only to the undersides of those erect breasts that stood out among the candlelight. Once she was settled, she took the unwrapped bar of soap – melded with red and pink rose petals – and smoothed it over her wet body, over her chest and under her arms, the expanse of her creamy thighs. She sighed with content as the floral scent hit her nose and she relaxed her head on the lip of the tub, closing her eyes. 

When her eyes eventually opened, she felt even colder than before and realized that she must have dozed off. Thinking to herself that she must be careful next time, she stood, wet droplets cascading downward. Before she could even step out of the tub she was startled by a knock on her bedroom door. Quickly drying off and dressing in her nightdress, she opened the door an inch and found Ms. Lydia on the other side. 

With confusion, she asked, “Ms. Lydia, what is it?” knowing the older woman would not have bothered her unless it was urgent. Perhaps there was a patient downstairs. 

“There’s a man at the front door,” Lydia told her, casting her eyes downward as if she hadn’t helped Dana with dressing her in her tighter corsets before. “He is here requesting your help for a sick girl.” 

At Lydia’s words of a young girl needing help, Dana’s pupils widened with determination. “I’ll be right down,” she said, then hurried back into her lavender dress and cloak, lacing her boots quickly. 

When she reached the first floor, there was a finely dressed young man waiting for her, standing patiently though she knew he was the opposite. If it was some Lord and Lady’s child that was ill, one he worked for, she knew he’d be very impatient indeed. So she didn’t doddle; she hurried, walking over to the man, dipping her head. 

“Miss Scully. Mister Banes,” he addressed, knees bending. “Lord Fredrick requests your presence, or rather, that of the doctor here, but seeing as Doctor Westwood isn’t home, I’d kindly ask if you would accompany me.” 

“Of course,” she said. “His daughter - what might I bring to help her?” 

The man listed a few of the young girl’s symptoms and Dana excused herself quickly to pack a medical bag before letting him escort her to the deep mahogany carriage outside. As she fetched the bottom of her dress and stepped inside, the man quickly closed the carriage door and began guiding the horses west. 

It didn’t take long before the galloping horses pulled her in front of an enormously beautifully Victorian home. Its vine-covered balconies and clinging wisterias stood out amongst the dark stone, even in the faintest shadows of moonlight. 

Stepping down from the front of the carriage, Mister Banes proceeded to open her door, offering her his hand. He led her to the giant wooden doors, knocking thrice. Dana waited, taking a deep breath of calm. Suddenly the doors were opened and they were greeted by an old woman, a maid of the house who wore deep wrinkles and a look of melancholy on her face. 

“Miss Dana Scully, nurse to Doctor Westwood,” the man presented, making Dana feel extra anxious, knowing they were expecting the doctor himself. 

“Doctor Westwood is on the other side of town helping deliver a baby, and could not be present,” the man continued. 

The old woman looked at her cautiously – a beat – before opening the door and ushering Dana inside. “Make haste then, Nurse Scully,” she said, assisting Dana with taking off her cloak. “Right this way.” 

She led Dana through the spacious entryway and up the wide middle staircase. Decorated in colors of cream and sapphire, the house was luxurious and beautiful, displaying long columns and sparkling chandeliers. It had big windows with lavish drapes, flowers around every corner. It made Dana feel as if she had entered a different world of elegance. 

At the end of the upstairs hallway there was a room with a cracked door, a few servants and ladies maids standing watch. Walking through the white door, Dana watched as the other women lowered their eyes respectfully, and when she finally entered the bedroom of the girl she was to attend to, she found it cold and dark. 

As the other women scattered, Dana was led to the large bed – one too large for such a small girl – with its white sheets and sheer lace canopy. When she looked at the girl closely, tucked into heavy sheets, her blue eyes meeting Dana in the candlelight, she smiled. 

“Hello,” the girl uttered, cheeks pink, eyes tired. “I am Eloise.” 

Grinning at her, Dana’s heart grew tenfold just from seeing such innocence tucked away with sweaty tendrils of hair, looking ill and pale. “Hello Eloise,” she said, standing close. “My name is Dana.” 

“Are you a doctor Miss Dana?”

“No,” Dana smiled. “I am a nurse.” 

“Are you here to take care of me?” 

“Of course, Miss Eloise. May I sit?” Dana pointed down towards the goose-feather comforter as the girl nodded. 

Carefully inching her hand towards her, Dana stroked away the damp hair from Eloise’s forehead and pressed the back of her hand against its warmth. “Do you feel warm, Eloise?” she asked. 

Eloise nodded once more. “And my throat is scratchy,” she added. “I feel unwell, Miss Dana.” 

“Don’t worry,” Dana soothed, smiling warmly at the girl. “I will help you feel much better. Okay?” 

Standing to retrieve her abandoned medical bag on the floor, she placed it on the table beside the bed, looking for a stethoscope to measure Eloise’s heartbeats. As she did so, she could hear another person entering the room – the quick footsteps of a woman – but she paid no mind, still rummaging through her bag, until- 

“How is she?” a woman asked, her voice husky and laced with concern. 

Turning towards the woman, Dana’s hands stilled and her body froze, her heart beating wildly beneath her bosom. For the woman standing before her, with elegance and hair as stunning as starlight, looked at her with the same turquoise eyes and took Dana’s breath away. 

  
  



	2. Stella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same day, in Stella’s perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo inspiration for this chapter if you’re interested. copy+paste. 
> 
> https://stellaxxgibson.tumblr.com/post/644878284465831936/a-love-forbidden-chapter-two-photo-inspo-the
> 
>   
> Also, I just need to say thank you again to Emilie for helping me with these chapters by fixing my mistakes and making suggestions. This wouldn’t be the same without your guidance.

It was the sound of knocking that woke her – three sharp bangs against a large wooden door. As she began to open her eyes slowly, her pupils adjusted to the faintest of light as the door became ajar, yellow candlelight spilling into the room. Being turned away from the source, she could only hear the sound of hasty footsteps, making her groan quietly and bury her face between her feathered pillows at the intrusion. 

“Good morning, Lady Beaumont,” a womanly voice sounded. It was the same alto pitch that woke her every morning with a delight most unwelcomed. She hated mornings and hated being awoken, especially before the colors of dawn painted the sky. 

“There’s quite a storm about,” the woman continued, walking toward the windows. 

Burying her face deeper, Stella heard the curtains being opened, no doubt casting gloomy shadows into her room through droplets of rain on the windowpane. She heard as thunder clattered loudly and wind hissed, making her want to stay in bed even longer. 

When the curtains of her bed canopy began to open, she shut her eyes tighter, buried her face even deeper still. Once the room was quiet, Stella opened her eyes and turned back toward the large rectangular windows on her left. In the shadows of a gloomy sky, she saw her lady maid, Anna, smiling at her warmly. Anna was tall and barely of middle-age, with thick hair as black as ink, strands of silver flowing gracefully through it. 

“They’re serving breakfast now,” Anna finally spoke again, standing straighter and waiting. 

Nodding once in acquiescence, she peeled back her dense comforter and slid out of bed. Walking toward the washbasin in the corner, Stella took a small white cloth from Anna, watching as the older woman poured fresh water into its bowl. Dipping the cloth in delicately, Stella began cleaning her face, the back of her neck, and above her collarbones. She pulled down her nightdress just a little in the back, letting Anna clean along her spine and structured shoulders. Re-soaking the cloth, she cleaned under her arms before dipping it under her night garment to clean between her legs. When she was all freshened for the day, she changed into clean stockings as Anna fetched more garments from her wardrobe. Fastening the black stockings in place with a garter, Stella pulled on a new pair of cotton drawers and a white chemise. 

After walking back over with a corset and a dress, Anna helped tie the back of Stella’s corset tightly, causing Stella to hold her breath nearly until she finished. Next came the dress; with a high neckline and a bodice made of ivory lace, it hugged Stella’s curves before fanning out in peach satin around her waist and legs. Finishing off her outfit with leather shoes, she slid them on her feet and sat at the vanity on the other side of her room, her breath hitching as her corset tightened around her rib cage with the movement. She brushed her long and wavy hair – the color of burning starlight and afternoon sunshine – before letting Anna pin it up at the top of her head with flowery pins. 

Glancing in the mirror, Stella traced the small lines around the corners of her eyes – the only wrinkles that adorned her face. They were smile lines from laughing with Eloise, from squinting in the summer sun as her daughter played in the grassy yard. She loved those tiny wrinkles – the ones that showed she had happiness in her life because of her little Eloise. 

Now picking up a thin brush, she began tracing a small amount of rosy blush over her cheekbones. It was the only makeup she ever wore. Makeup was expensive, and though money was never an issue, the enhancement hadn’t ever been a necessity for her. Stella’s face was naturally bright and beautiful, always captivating without the use of powders or wine-shade lipsticks. Her skin was an elegant shade of ivory mixed with peach – much like the dress she wore on her body – with splatterings of caramel-colored freckles covering her from head to toe. She was the epitome of beauty, but as Stella always received such compliments about her looks, she never let them go to her head. For she valued intelligence and kindness far more than physical beauty, and Stella was a kind and intelligent woman just as much as she was beautiful. 

After finishing with her blush, Stella was completely ready for breakfast. She left her large bedroom and headed down the hall toward Eloise’s room. Knocking lightly at first, she opened the door, not wanting to startle her awake. 

“Good morning, Eloise,” she whispered, walking over toward the sleepy girl. Bending slightly, she kissed the top of her head, watching as Eloise slowly awakened. 

It was one of Stella’s favorite times of day: when she could have quality time alone with her daughter. Though she knew most mothers of her status left the majority of child-rearing to their nannies, Stella never practiced such a thing. She’d let them tend to Eloise when needed, whenever she needed a break or had things to attend to, but never because she didn’t want to take care of her herself. Eloise was her entire world and she cherished every moment she had with her. 

As Eloise began to open her dewy blue eyes – a perfect match to her mother’s – she glanced upward and smiled, “Good morning, Mummy.” 

“Did you sleep well, darling?” Stella asked, kissing her forehead. 

“Perfectly so,” Eloise answered, still smiling widely. “And you, Mummy?” She sat up in bed and tucked strands of messy hair behind her ears. It was the same as her mother’s – blonde and wavy, reaching the middle of her back, silky strands like waves of golden honey. 

“Very well, thank you,” Stella returned. She helped Eloise out of bed and led her toward the washbasin, cleaning her up before dressing her in a long beige dress. She brushed and braided her hair, tying a navy-colored ribbon on the end. And before they headed down for breakfast, the young girl sat on the polished floors, putting on her shoes herself. She was just as independent as her mother, even at the young age of six. 

Once they headed through the long corridor and down the large staircase, they found the dining hall in deafening silence. Lord Frederick sat on the far left end of the dining room table, waiting patiently for their presence. He was a man with dark feathered locks, mysterious chocolate eyes, and a large and charming smile. But being ten years Stella's senior, he was deliriously cocky – a man of known wealth and status. 

“Good morning,” he grinned at them both, locking his eyes onto Stella’s as she sat at the opposite end of the wooden table. Eloise followed suit, heading for her chair in the middle. 

“Good morning,” Stella returned, placing a napkin on her lap. She eyed him for a moment before turning her sights back to their daughter. 

It wasn’t that she hated her husband. He had always treated her well, with the utmost respect and honor. But she had never truly loved the man – or any man at all – not even when she’d married Frederick. She had barely been twenty on the day, almost a decade prior, smiling faintly as family and peers gave their congratulations. No, she hadn’t ever been in love with him, but she had married him anyway. For he _did_ treat her right, never asking too much of her, never putting her in harm's way. He was her cover in a world of prying eyes, a world where she couldn’t ever truly be herself. 

He had money and stability, a great title, and family name. And she had wanted all of that: the safety of a home, the stability of a respectable partner. So she married him when he asked for her hand, knowing she would always be safe with him; knowing she’d always have a roof over her head and plenty of food on her plate. She had reasoned that he could give her the child she always dreamed of having, even if she never wanted _him_. Even if it all was just a ruse to her. 

It was all far better than the alternative, and she couldn’t ever go back there, no matter how much her heart ached for real and passionate love. It had been the hardest decision of her life. To hide herself in a world that could never accept her, lest she melted in, appearing to be normal and happy. So she did blend herself in, convincing everyone else, and even the man she had wed, that she was entirely happy. For her reputation depended on it. 

As Eloise took her seat, Stella cleared her throat and shook away her thoughts. Instead, she looked at her daughter, prompting her without words. She knew Eloise didn’t mean to be disrespectful and not reply to her father, but with him consistently working endless hours and always being away from home, she didn’t know him very well and in turn, didn't have a strong bond with him. So every so often, Stella knew she had to help remind her daughter of his presence, to be respectful of him there and mind her manners. 

“Good morning, Papa,” she finally said. 

Frederick looked at Stella and then to his daughter, giving an authoritative, “Yes, good morning, Eloise,” before distractingly looking away as breakfast started to be served. 

They ate in quiet silence, speaking only when Eloise brought up her desire to go into town later in the day, or when Stella asked about schoolwork and if Eloise wanted to go to the pastry shop. 

And of course, Eloise wanted to go to the pastry shop, but school came first. So as they finished their breakfast of breads, fruit, porridge, and bacon, Eloise asked to be excused, and when she was granted permission, she exited the dining hall to get started on her schoolwork with her tutor. 

As Stella watched her go, she dabbed her cloth napkin against the corners of her mouth and rose to her feet. “I’ll be in the drawing-room if you need me,” she told her husband, knowing very well that he’d never need her. 

Excusing herself from breakfast, she walked with clicking heels on the decorative floors and headed back upstairs to be alone. 

— 

Stella was very good with her fingers. She could play a tune on the piano from memory, embroider anything her heart desired, and even played a bit of violin. But what she was best at – and what she’d never dare to share the pieces of with anyone else – was sketching. 

Hiding out in the middle of the day alone, Stella would sneak her sketchbook from its hiding place under her bedroom floorboards. She’d sketch a piece each day that she could, secretly revealing her heart's desire through charcoal along paper – beautiful lines and shades of women in lust and in love. 

But sometimes, when she knew her husband would be home, Stella would retire to the drawing-room instead, pick up paintbrushes and oils and create artwork at her easel. And today she decided to paint, for she knew that Frederick was working from home the entirety of the week. Though she knew he never bothered her, she still feared one day he might. So instead of sketching she used stone and smoky gray, painting the gloomy storm outside, green for the whipping trees, and black for the angry sky. She worked the bristles with ease, creating heavy clouds and pelting raindrops, and when she finished with her painting, she practiced a song on the piano, her own classical piece that was yet to be named. She was very good with her fingers. 

When the storm began to fade and the sun peeked through the clouds, she tied a cloak around her shoulders and walked the entirety of the gardens, smelling the blooming pink roses and the fresh greenery of spring. It was one of her favorite places to go, especially after a long rainfall. So she let herself stroll through it once more, ever so slowly this time. She thought of the roasted pork and vegetables they would be serving for dinner, of the fresh basil in her own private area of the garden that she grew herself, of the upcoming ball they would be throwing in a week's time. She thought of taking Eloise to that favorite pastry shop of hers, of letting her pick out her favorite chocolate treat for after supper. She thought about her new scarlet dress that needed to be collected from her seamstress, and about the afternoon tea she would be attending to soon. 

When Stella eventually made her way back to the front door, her head swimming with thoughts, the sun a little brighter, she headed back toward her room to change into a more appropriate dress. For she’d be going to her weekly tea with the high society wives, where biscuits would be served but none would be eaten, and when the chatter of gossip would eventually die down amongst the group of eight women, Stella would bid farewell to each one and head back home just in time to meet Eloise coming from her lessons. 

But when she did find herself back home, exhausted from the conversations and from what little food she had for lunch, Stella immediately knew something was wrong. Eloise’s cries could be heard from where she stood downstairs. _Why was she crying? Why wasn’t she at her lessons?_ Quickly shedding her cloak, Stella ran upstairs, her dress bunched up in white knuckles. As she reached her daughter’s room, she hurried inside to find the nanny, Ms. Vail, comforting Eloise as she sat upon her bed weeping. 

“Darling, what’s the matter?” she asked softly, quickly taking Ms. Vail’s place as the older woman left them alone. Stella wiped away streaming tears and sat next to Eloise, pulling her close. 

With a sniffle, the young girl began to quiet her tears as her mother’s warmth encased her. She tucked her dampened cheek towards Stella’s breast and hugged her tightly, whispering, “I don’t feel well, Mummy.”

Instinctively, Stella placed her palm over Eloise’s forehead and noticed a slight change in her temperature. Wondering how she had grown unwell so quickly, she drew herself away, grabbing her daughter’s face with the gentlest touch. 

“What hurts, my love?” 

Eloise’s eyes began to prickle with fresh tears. “My head and my tummy,” she uttered. “And my throat.” 

Noting that nothing looked different about her skin or body in general, Stella helped change her daughter into a thin nightdress and tucked her into bed early. She asked the staff for cold water and a glass, as well as a few clean cloths, giving Eloise something to sip on to keep her hydrated, and something cool to press against her warm skin. She had Ms. Vail bring some warm tea with lemon, and when Eloise finally began to drift off, dried tears crusted on her cheeks, Stella sighed and met the older woman in the hallway. 

“I can look after her while she sleeps a bit,” Ms. Vail said. She was short and plump and too old to be looking after Eloise for much longer, but she helped whenever Stella needed her, and for that, Stella was grateful. 

“Thank you,” she replied. “I will change and head back in immediately.” 

“No need,” the other woman stated, shaking her head. “I am no doctor, my Lady, but you will need some supper for your strength, and a real doctor for Miss Eloise. I can look after her until one arrives.” 

Knowing she was right – though she didn’t want to leave Eloise – Stella nodded her head, deciding she’d change into more comfortable clothing before asking her husband to get a doctor and eventually, eating supper.

This wasn’t the first time Stella asked herself why they’d never hired a new in-home doctor for their family. They used to have their own as part of their staff up until a month ago. But the old man had passed away, and doctors were rare around rural England. So now they were left to use the only one in town at their disposal. 

Stella retreated to her bedroom and quickly donned a light blue dress as a member of the staff informed Lord Frederick about Eloise. Splashing cold water over her face to calm herself, she returned downstairs and into the dining hall for dinner, her husband giving her an eye of sympathy. She took her seat and waited. 

“I have sent someone to fetch the local doctor,” he told her. “I have heard many good things about his capabilities. He should be arriving within the hour.” 

Looking down at the pork and potatoes presented on the dining table, she swallowed thickly, suddenly losing her appetite. She’d heard great things about Doctor Westwood in her own circle of friends, and knew that he was very well educated, even had a young woman helping him recently. But she couldn’t help but feel nervous about what the worst possible outcome could be. About what could happen to Eloise if she had caught something serious. Only letting herself dwell on her anxieties for a moment, however, she swallowed those nerves along with the dinner in front of her and awaited the doctor’s presence. 

—

After checking that Eloise was all right and still asleep, Stella paced the hallway corridor, still waiting for the doctor. Feeling hot and increasingly more anxious, she retreated once more to her bedroom and out onto the balcony, letting herself breathe in deep breaths of fresh air. The stars were bright and the moon was full, casting her in a yellow glow. 

Minutes had passed – maybe hours, she didn’t know – until she heard a knock on her bedroom door. It was Anna, walking in with haste, meeting her in the doorway between warm and cold air. 

“Doctor Westwood’s wife sends her regards, my Lady. He was not home and will not be done with his current patient for quite some time,” she informed her, causing Stella’s heart to drop. “But the nurse is here,” Anna continued. “She is looking in on Eloise now.”

Inhaling deeply, Stella closed her eyes and calmed her shaking hands. She knew that a doctor would be more beneficial in helping Eloise recover from whatever illness she had come down with, but she was also a woman in a man’s world, just as the nurse was. She knew that women could be just as smart as or even smarter than men were, they just weren’t allowed to be presented as such. 

Letting go of her fear, Stella reopened her eyes and hastily walked back towards Eloise’s room. What she found inside was semi-darkness, one lone candle on a table. In the faint light, she could see, however, that Eloise was smiling softly, causing her thumping heart to slow down into a normal rhythm. To her left she saw a woman near her daughter, her small form turned away. It had to be the nurse, she presumed. 

“How is she?” Stella asked. 

When the woman turned around, Stella froze for a moment, for the nurse was indeed a young woman. A _beautiful_ young woman, with auburn hair and the most perfect face she had ever seen, the most glowing eyes of sea blue. She was so beautiful in fact, that Stella almost forgot entirely why she was here in the first place until the woman spoke. 

“She is...,” the red-headed woman stammered, her cheekbones just as red and flushed. She walked toward Stella and gave a light bow, never withdrawing eye contact. “She is warm and a little groggy, Lady Beaumont,” she finally said. “For now, she seems all right from the help of your remedies, though she is indeed sick. But I can help ease any pain and get her feeling better to the best of my capabilities.” 

Stella tried to read the nurse’s face at that moment – the way her features were soft and kind, almost angelic. It was then that she knew this woman was to be trusted, that she would take care of Eloise as if her life depended on it. She looked calm and intelligent, gentle yet fiercely strong. There was just something about her...

Shaking out of the nurse’s calming aura, Stella turned her attention back to her sick daughter, who was still lying calmly in bed, sweat beating from her pores. 

“How do you feel now, love?” she asked, sitting on the bed. 

“A little better after dozing,” Eloise answered, “but not very.” 

Turning her head, Stella watched as the nurse pulled out a stethoscope and a few other tools. Before she could ask how she thought Eloise was doing, the kind nurse stepped closer, answering the question as if reading her mind.

“I’m not sure what it is quite yet, though I have a few hypotheses,” she said softly. “I won’t know anything further until I observe her more closely.”

“Oh, of course.” Stella stood quickly, almost abashed, letting the nurse have some space to work. She didn’t want to be in the way. 

After asking Eloise for permission, the nurse used the listening device to check her heartbeat, then checked her skin and face for spots, finding her to look decent enough. She glanced over at Stella, who swore her motherly eyes were probably making the woman uncomfortable. But the nurse just smiled and nodded her head toward the unlit lantern on the dresser. 

“Would you mind bringing that over?” she asked smoothly. “I would like to get a better look at her eyes and throat.” 

Fetching the lantern and lighting it with a match from a top drawer that Eloise could never reach, Stella walked closer – one step, three steps, five steps – and stood right in front of the young nurse, handing her the light. She smelt of roses and herbs, of something so utterly familiar. 

“Thank you,” the nurse said, setting it on the night table. 

Stella nodded and looked over at Eloise, who was eyeing them both, looking content for the moment. Then pulling her back in like a magnet, she locked eyes once more with the woman before her. There was something in the air she couldn’t shake, something magnetizing and comforting despite the situation; a feeling she knew wasn’t just her own. 

The room stood still for what seemed like hours as she inhaled her flowery aroma, as if frozen in time. 

Seeming to have caught her breath, the woman with red hair spoke into the quiet. “My name is Dana Scully,” she said, holding out her hand in introduction. “I didn’t have the chance before.” 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Scully.” Stella shook her hand. It was soft and gentle yet fiercely strong. “Please forgive my unpleasantries. It has been a long day.”

“There is no need for apologies. It is nice to meet you as well, Lady Beaumont,” nurse Scully returned, her prominent blue eyes never leaving Stella’s. “And Miss Eloise here as well.” She turned and met Eloise with a gentle smile, continuing. “Let’s help you feel better. Good as new, okay?” 

Dana’s voice was soothing and kind as she spoke to Eloise, letting Stella reassure herself once more that having her here was a good decision. That she was probably the best chance Eloise had at recovering with little stress as possible. 

“Thank you, Miss Dana,” Eloise uttered. 

Stella watched as Dana Scully sat on the bed of her daughter, stroking her hair away from her face. She turned the lantern brighter and studied Eloise’s face closely, checking her eyes and mouth as she did so. “You can just call me Dana,” she smiled. And so did Stella. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. the first of many nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stella and Dana become closer as they take care of sick little Eloise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Emilie for helping me with this chapter! I did play around with it a bit, so any and all mistakes are mine.

When Dana was a young girl, her mother always dressed her in the morning in fine white dresses with long and lacey skirts. She would return home at the end of nearly every day, however, with dirt and mud on her elbows and grass stains all over her knees. Her rounded porcelain collars and delicate dresses left dirty and torn. Her mother would frown each time, sending her to her room to change while she sewed the tears on her dresses and scrubbed the fabric clean. But Dana never cared to stay clean, no matter how many times she would be chastised for playing roughly. She would play outside until the sun went down, never wanting to be held back from anything, let alone her freedom to explore the world around her with utter curiosity and deep yearning. 

Dana never understood, back then, what those white dresses were meant to represent to everyone else around her. That her mother wanted to preserve her youth and, most of all, the innocence that came along with it. She hadn’t known that she would be expected to be the perfect child, the perfect young woman, to be her parent’s angel dressed in virtue. 

It wasn't until her sister Missy dropped out of school and left home, running away with a boy, that Dana finally understood. She was the oldest daughter henceforth, and the burden of her parent’s expectations grew tenfold. She was the one who was expected to marry and birth children, to be the charming and respectable daughter of the doctor. She was to finish school with the same standards of purity and then wed a respectable man come her graduation, for no one of respectable lineage would marry a woman unworthy. She was to create a beautiful family of her own, to be happy and presentable to the world, whether she wanted all of that or not. 

Her family had a reputation to uphold, especially after their eldest daughter left home uneducated, young, and unwed. Her brothers were already highly regarded. They had been young men with a reputable name and never had to try very hard to keep it that way. Bill married a stunning young woman and had a child on the way. Charlie had still been a boy back then, but their parents never worried much about him, for he was a man in a world run by and for men. Dana, however, found herself the only daughter that her parents claimed, and had to carry the burden of all of their family prospects on her young shoulders. She didn’t have a choice. Or so she had thought, back then, at least. 

As she reached the age of thirteen, all of the other girls in her class had begun to blossom into womanhood. They would whisper about boys and love, yet Dana never had any interest in any of that. She would stare at her flat chest in the mirror but never wondered why such things mattered to anyone else. There were dogs to chase in the dirt, books to read, and homework to complete. There wasn't any need for her to feel nervous about displeasing her family. She didn't care about her bust line or about how others perceived her looks back then. Well, she hadn’t cared about those things, really, not until a few years later when she met a young woman by the name of Clara. And Clara had changed everything. 

As she reached the age of eighteen, with only three months left of twelfth year, Dana found herself in love for the very first time. Clara was smart and beautiful, with long brown hair and matching brown eyes that Dana would always find herself lost in. She would challenge her yet always listened; really listen to her unlike anyone else before. Everything had been comfortable and natural with Clara, and the transition from being friends to being in love had been easy, like the earth changing from winter to spring. 

Their relationship had been new, full of love and trust, passionate yet secret; because it had to be. Perceived as best friends, they spent the majority of their time together, from giggling in class to nights snuck out of the house. There were stolen kisses under shady trees, glistening skin pressed together, fingers and tongues, and quiet moans in the moonlight. And Dana had never been happier in her entire life. 

It had all fallen apart a few days before summer, when her father found love letters from Clara hidden in a box beneath her bed. Those letters met their fate immediately, being tossed and burned in the harsh flames of their fireplace. Dana had wept and shouted, crying scorching tears as the papers turned into ash. Her father hit her then, the first and only time he’d done so, stinging her cheek with the back of his hand as more tears spilled. 

“You will never speak to her again! Do you understand? That is an order,” he’d spat, his face as red and hot as the fire. “I will not let you shame this family, Dana. Never.” 

In return, she screamed, lungs raw and heavy as iron. “I love her! I do not care, I love her!” But it hadn’t been enough. It never would have been enough. 

She’d planned to go away to school in London with Clara that fall. They both were accepted into the same nursing school and had a dorm room waiting for them to share – a place to grow and a place to love. But she hadn’t been allowed to go after her parents found out about her relationship with Clara. Pulling her out of university, her father guilted her into accepting teaching courses instead, wanting to keep her nearby. She wasn’t allowed to pursue her dreams, then. Instead, she had been caged and reprimanded for falling in love. 

If Dana hadn’t accepted it, had left for London against her father’s demands, she would have been disowned as Missy had. She wouldn't have had any money or support, no one to pay for her school, for her housing, or her food. She wouldn’t have been able to see her mother again, nor her little brother Charlie. The decision was one she’d felt she had no say in making, but she made it, nonetheless, through sobs, knowing she had no other choice. 

Changing her life as she knew it, she had to sneak off and watch as Clara wept, saying her goodbyes before she headed for London. It was the last time Dana ever saw her, the last time she felt happiness as the woman whom she loved held her for the very last time, whispering _I love you_ ’s in her ear before dissolving in the air between them when she walked away. 

Dana hadn’t felt pure happiness since that day in the summer sun, with Clara’s last kiss upon her lips. But as she stood now in a darkened room with a blonde woman so encompassing and divine, she finally felt the prickles of unexplainable hope begin to envelop her heart, even in the midst of woe. This mysterious and confident woman – though vulnerable in seeing her daughter so ill – made Dana feel as if she could breathe again, just by standing in her presence. There was something there that she couldn’t shake, and she wanted to know what exactly that was when the time was properly right, because she was already feeling things for the woman already. 

—

As Eloise fell asleep almost completely in her arms, Dana gently dabbed her forehead with a cool cloth and watched as her breathing began to slow down and even out. She made sure the young girl was comfortable, tucking the comforter under her arms so she wouldn’t become too hot. She dimmed the lantern and watched as Lady Beaumont kissed her daughter’s pink cheek, as she smiled down at her, and then up at Dana with soft eyes. 

Gesturing to meet her in the hallway, the Lady followed her into the brighter light, leaving the bedroom door open just a crack. Dana could sense she had grown more nervous since Eloise had to take medication to fall asleep, but she could still see hope in those deep blues eyes, see the trust there that the woman had already found in her. 

Standing closely, she could feel Lady Beaumont’s warm breath against her as she spoke quietly. “What do you believe she has?” she whispered, her voice breaking with concern. 

Habitually, Dana bit her bottom lip and met the woman’s irises. “I believe she has a bad head cold,” she answered, immediately seeing as the lady of the house exhaled in relief. “But I would still like to keep a close eye on her. Her temperature is a little concerning but not terribly so. With a cough starting, however, I would like to check her symptoms hourly and make sure they do not worsen.” 

“Worsen? As in... do you believe she could come down with pneumonia?” 

“It is a possibility,” Dana uttered. She didn’t want to make her more nervous for her child, but she had to tell Lady Beaumont the truth, just in case things took a turn for the worse. 

“Alright,” the older woman breathed. After a moment, she stood up straighter and looked to be deep in thought. “I shall have a room prepared for you, then. There is a spare room across the hall from Eloise, or if you would feel more comfortable, the bedrooms for guests are up the stairs.” 

“The spare room will do just fine, thank you,” Dana smiled. She knew most bedrooms on the floor they were on were meant for family members only, but she didn’t mind taking the offer when one was given to her. She wanted to stay as close to Eloise as possible, to be able to hear her if she woke or caught herself in a coughing fit. 

Lady Beaumont smiled back and excused herself to inform the staff of Dana’s stay. While she was away, Dana softly opened the door to Eloise’s room and went back inside. She quietly pulled over a chair and sat near the empty fireplace, noting in her journal the symptoms of the girl, as well as the time the medication was given to her. When she finished, she put it away in her bag just as the other woman was quietly making her way back into the room. 

“May I show you to your room?” she whispered, taking a few glances to see if her daughter was still sleeping. 

Nodding in reply, Dana followed her once more, out of the bedroom and down a different hallway. As she stopped in front of a large open door, Lady Beaumont watched as fresh sheets were fitted on the bed, a look of tiredness set across her features. It wasn’t until Dana saw the unoccupied crib and the rocking horse in the corner, that she realized the room was intended to be a nursery. 

“I do not wish to be a burden. I can sleep in the guest bedroom upstairs,” Dana began, not wanting to be in the way. By the look of sadness in the other woman’s eyes, she would sleep upstairs if she needed to. 

“Please, you are no burden at all,” the Lady gave, the corners of her lips curving into a small smile. “You are here to help and I am entirely grateful to you. The closer you are to Eloise, the better. It won’t be a problem, I assure you.”

With her words, it was as if no one else was even remotely in their vicinity, especially as the beautiful blonde woman looked deeply into her eyes. She radiated warmth and understanding, immediately putting Dana at ease over taking such a precious space. “Thank you. You are very kind, Lady Beaumont.” 

As the bedroom was finished being made, and the staff was excused to bed, the older woman showed her around the room, where everything was that she may need, including the washroom down the hall. There was a decent-sized bed with comfortable-looking blankets, and even a private balcony through large French doors. 

“You may use anything you would like, and if you need anything more, do not hesitate to ask.” 

“I will, thank you.” Dana nodded lightly and followed her back down the hallway, watching as her hips swayed with every step. 

When they made their way back to Eloise’s room, they both stopped, listening to the slight snoring coming from the girl inside. 

“I will stay with her for a few hours at a time. You should get your rest.” 

Peering through the door at her daughter and then back to Dana, she gave hesitantly, “I do not want to leave her but…” 

“She is in capable hands,” Dana smiled warmly. 

With one last glance at Eloise, Lady Beaumont sighed and nodded. “Do wake me if anything changes. Anything,” she emphasized.

Pushing open the door gently, Dana agreed. “I will, of course.” 

—

She must have fallen asleep in the middle of the night after checking the girl’s heart rate, for Dana found herself slumped on the chair in Eloise’s room, a blanket somehow finding its way onto her lap. She had barely even moved at all and hadn’t yet gone to her room. Instead, she had fallen asleep after a few hours, dozing off while sitting at a ninety-degree angle. She had been too tired to go, and a part of her didn’t want to leave Eloise alone for a second. If her condition were to worsen, the next few nights would tell her so, and she needed to be there if it did. 

Stretching her neck, she worked it from side to side before standing to stretch her limbs and sore back. When she looked over to see that Eloise was doing alright, she turned to her very left, trying to ease her aching hip, and found Lady Beaumont asleep on a matching chair, a thick wool blanket draped over her body. 

Smiling to herself, Dana eased the shoes off her feet and tiptoed over to the woman, wanting to make sure she was comfortable and wasn’t looking feverish herself; it wouldn’t do any good to have both mother and child ill. 

With the lantern turned off, replaced with a burning candle, she couldn’t see much of anything. But she could see the Lady’s thick lashes and thin nose, the way she curled her fingers around the blanket as if she were cradling her child. She was breathtaking in every way, even in sleep, causing Dana to feel butterflies in her belly. 

Looking then at her forehead that was surrounded by golden wisps of hair, Dana noticed it to be dry and free of perspiration. She didn’t look to be ill at all, so she returned to Eloise’s bedside, but not without gazing once more at the woman who slumbered so beautifully. 

Replacing the warming cloth with another one dampened with cold water, she made sure Eloise was sleeping without a fuss before making her way back to her bed for the evening. As she began to sit down, she heard the blonde woman stirring and clearing her throat as she awoken. 

“Is she still the same?”

Dana turned and saw that Lady Beaumont’s piercing eyes had opened and were looking directly into hers. “Still the same,” she repeated. “Which means nothing has worsened.” 

Just as those words left her lips, Eloise suddenly sat up in bed, letting out little whimpers. It was as if her condition worsened in an instant, Dana’s instincts being precisely right. “I am going to be sick,” she whimpered furthermore. 

Quickly, Dana grabbed a spare bucket from the floor and placed it in front of the girl as she released her stomach contents into it. Her mother ran over just as quickly and soothed her tears, holding back her hair. 

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” the Lady shushed, rubbing Eloise’s back. 

When Eloise was finished being sick, Dana helped the girl take a small sip of water, cupping the back of her head for support. “Are you okay, Eloise?” 

The poor girl could only manage to nod her head in reply, too tired to give anything more. Hoarse coughs bellowed from her lungs until she slumped back down against her pillows and closed her eyes. 

Pouring some more fresh water, Dana helped cool her off, wiping her sweaty forehead and neck, even dabbing the corners of her mouth clean. She emptied the dirty water basin and returned to Eloise’s bedside, noticing how the Lady so carefully cradled her child in her arms. 

“She must be very exhausted,” she whispered to Lady Beaumont. “Has she fallen back asleep?” 

Caressing the girl’s cheek tenderly, the blonde woman nodded. In her eyes, in the closeness of the candlelight, Dana could see unshed tears brimming along her lash lines, threatening to spill. 

“I believe that may be the worst of it tonight. I will stay here. You should get yourself some decent rest.” Oh, how Dana wished she could make both of them feel better. 

“No,” Lady Beaumont whispered. “Thank you. But I would like to stay with her.” 

Standing, Dana made her way toward her and lent her a gentle hand, nearly gasping as their hands met. Clearing her throat to try to shake away the warm feeling of the woman’s hand, she whispered, “Of course,” and began helping her out of Eloise’s grip. 

When they were all settled, the room became ominously quiet for what felt like hours. And hours truly did pass that way. Eloise woke occasionally to cough but would settle back into slumber immediately, causing the room to quiet again. Not even the sounds of crickets outside could be heard, so eventually, Dana let herself close her eyes and try to relax, but sleep would never come. In her medically educated mind, all sorts of scenarios played about in her head, from pneumonia to influenza. Though she worried for Eloise, she did not want that worry to show, even as it grew past midnight and everyone else was asleep. She wanted to be optimistic for both of the women that surrounded her, to be their support in a trying time. There seemed to be no one else. 

When she thought the Lady was deep in sleep, still not being able to sleep herself, she opened her eyes to find that the older woman was awake. She was looking off in the distance and Dana didn’t know if she could see her watching, but when her eyes flickered towards her own, the other woman smiled weakly before dropping her gaze to the folded hands on her lap. 

After a moment, when Lady Beaumont finally spoke, it was but a whisper in the silent room. “I cannot sleep.”

“It is normal to worry. You are doing absolutely everything you can do for Eloise.” 

With a sigh, Lady Beaumont met her gaze again but didn’t speak. She looked at Dana deeply, almost helplessly, something foreign and saddening that the young nurse had never seen from her before. It made her heart ache. 

As the minutes passed, she finally spoke again, her eyes never wandering from Dana’s. “Were you ever sick as a child, Dana?” 

Taken back by the question and by the first utterance of her name, Dana stilled as though lava melted through her veins. “I do not believe so.” 

“Neither was I,” the Lady continued. “I have always been in good health. But Eloise… I do not believe she inherited that good health.” 

Softly bringing her chair closer, just an arm's length away, Dana asked with a whisper, “Why do you believe that?” 

The blonde woman hugged the blanket tighter around her body as if trying to comfort herself. “She has been sick quite a few times in her life. It worries me.” 

Not knowing what overcame her at that moment, Dana suddenly had the urge to reach out and comfort this woman, to reassure her with a warming touch that her daughter would be okay, even now. Though she didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, it was fairly common in her line of work to comfort worried mothers, and she really wanted to comfort this mother especially. So ever so slowly, she reached out and grazed the tips of her fingers over the other woman’s hand as her heart raced frantically. 

“She is going to be alright,” she whispered. “I will make sure of it, Lady Beaumont.”

As the candle flickered, Dana could see it in her face, the longing and desperation, and something else she couldn’t quite read. _Was it gratitude? The same spark she could feel so greatly between them?_

She felt as the older woman’s skin heated beneath her fingertips, then watched as Lady Beaumont reached her other hand around and placed it on top of Dana’s, inflaming her knuckles in comforting sincerity. 

“Please,” she whispered back. “Would you call me Stella?” 

“Are-are you certain?” 

Grazing her fingers delicately over Dana’s, Stella interrupted her softly. “Please, I insist.”

A shiver ran through her body, but not from the cool air of the room. It was from the intimacy the two women were already sharing together. The way her touches felt so familiar, yet like nothing she had ever felt before. 

“Stella is... a very beautiful name,” was all she could say. 

“Thank you, Dana,” Stella smiled. “Yours as well.” 

They stayed that way, never let go of each other’s hand until sleep finally overtook them. 

—

When the sun spilled over the horizon, Dana awoke again in complete silence. She saw as Stella still slumbered in the chair right next to her, as Eloise began tossing and turning in her bed. Getting up and reaching her bedside, Dana removed the cloth from the girl’s forehead and blew on her damp curls of hair. 

Slowly, Eloise opened her eyes. “‘Morning,” she rasped. 

“Good morning, Eloise. How are you feeling?” 

“Not well.” The young girl shook her head slightly and groaned. “I hurt and I am hungry.” 

As she heard Stella awaken, her bare feet on the floor as she walked over, Dana smiled at Eloise. “Hungry is wonderful. Would you like to try eating something?” 

Eloise nodded and coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth. Stella rubbed her back in return, soothing her daughter. Much like last night, her cough was loud and hoarse, making Dana slightly nervous. 

“Good morning, love.” Stella hid a yawn as Eloise hugged her in reply. “Dana says you are doing fine. Shall we get you something for breakfast?” 

“Yes, Mummy.” 

“I will have someone bring something up,” Stella said. “Something small to start with, okay, darling?”

Just then, there was a knock on the door, followed by a chipper Anna entering the room. “Good morning,” she spoke, looking around at everyone before opening the curtains to bring in the morning light. “May I bring some breakfast for Eloise?”

Stella instructed Anna to bring her a slice of plain toast and some applesauce, and Dana agreed when she asked her if she thought Eloise’s stomach could handle it. 

“Usually, when she has been ill before, she could only tolerate toast and blended foods,” Stella informed her. 

“That is exactly what I would recommend,” Dana replied with a smile. 

They managed to help Eloise eat half of her toast and a quarter of her applesauce before she turned the food away. With something now in her stomach, Dana gave her some pain medication, noting the dosage and time. 

When Eloise seemed to brighten up just a little from the medicine, Dana suggested she get some fresh air to help her lungs. She helped Stella wrap the girl in a blanket, and relocated one of the chairs out to the bedroom balcony. As Eloise breathed in as deeply as she could, only coughing a few times, Stella stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. When the girl became cold, they helped her back in bed, where Stella crawled in next to her, right on top of the blankets. 

“Would you like me to read to you, darling?” Stella asked her daughter. 

Eloise rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and nodded it up and down. “Please.” 

Reaching for a children’s book on the bedside table, Dana helped gather the book and handed it to Stella, as it was just out of her reach. 

“Thank you,” Stella said. “I can stay here with her for a while. If you would still like to stay at the house, you will need some of your own belongings. I can have someone take you home to fetch your things.” 

Smiling at her thoughtfulness, Dana agreed. “Thank you, Lady Beaumont.” 

“Stella, please.” 

“Of course,” Dana blushed. “Stella.” 

After Stella summoned Anna to call for a carriage, Dana watched as the mother read to her sleepy child. She used special voices for each character in the book – deep and booming, and then soft and squeaky. 

“Mr. Bear, I do not wish any harm,” Stella uttered as she read, her voice quiet and high pitched as a mouse. 

Dana grinned as she headed out of the room, down the large staircase, and, after pulling on her favorite cloak, was led to the same carriage that brought her there the night before. This time, however, the horses would guide her back home, but she would only be gone for a short time. 

She would bathe herself quickly once she reached the residence of the doctor, would say good morning to him and Ms. Lydia, explaining she would be away for a few days. She would gather her things and check on Chestnut, stroke her dark hair, and then walk back toward the carriage. Dana wouldn’t need to hurry; she knew Stella was more than capable of comforting her child and could take care of her until Eloise’s next dose of medication. But she would make haste nonetheless, for there were now two people a few miles west who she felt still very much needed her.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My greatest gratitude to my wonderful friend Skylar for being my muse, and to my dear Emilie for always having my back and beta-ing my nonsense. I love you both so much, as well as everyone who reads this story. 
> 
> Comments are always gladly accepted and always keep me going.


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